


The Life That Could Have Been

by Satres_Jedi



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: #deep, Also Buddhism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Comedy, Comedy is subjective, Eventual Romance, Existentialism, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, It can get depressing people, Maybe Lemons, My cat thinks I'm funny, Nihilism, Ok definitely lemons, Philosophy, Romance, Sarcastic AF, Sometimes I can be funny, Suicidal Thoughts, love yourself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-29
Updated: 2020-07-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:53:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25585489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Satres_Jedi/pseuds/Satres_Jedi
Summary: Eragon lives in Uru'Baen in Galbatorix's ranks under the alias Denethor, and when he is put in charge of Arya's interrogation his life changes drastically. Now he is planning to betray the king in hopes of redemption. Romance and occasionally smutty. Rated E for violence, mature themes, and sexual content.
Relationships: Arya Dröttningu/Eragon Shadeslayer, Formora (Inheritance Cycle)/Other(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 11





	The Life That Could Have Been

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all. This work was originally published on Fanfiction.net under the same name by the author TheCrotchRocket (forgive me I was young and dumb.) These chapters are reworked, rewritten, and, in my humble opinion, generally better than the originals. The first chapter is currently the only one reworked with more to come, but if you get impatient you can read the originals and cringe along with me. Updates should come frequently until Ch. 21, which is where the original work is currently. Once this work is caught up I will start posting new chapters simultaneously on both sites. I'm new to posting on AO3, so forgive me if there are formatting issues (I've spent 20 minutes playing with the settings.) Thank you for considering reading my work. I hope you enjoy.
> 
> Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance characters, world, and all the legal things you should say. The OCs Azura and Rose are my own creations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. This work was originally published on Fanfiction.net under the same name by the author TheCrotchRocket (forgive me I was young and dumb.) These chapters are reworked, rewritten, and, in my humble opinion, generally better than the originals. The first chapter is currently the only one reworked with more to come, but if you get impatient you can read the originals and cringe along with me. This work will have characters and plot points that are not in the original, so this story will have some key differences. Updates should come frequently until Ch. 21, which is where the original work is currently. Once this work is caught up I will start posting new chapters simultaneously on both sites. For those that already ready the ch. I first posted, I was unhappy with the minimal changes and decided to take a different route. Thanks lem14 for the kudos, and I hope you enjoy the updated version.
> 
> Obligatory Disclaimer: I do not own the Inheritance characters, world, and all the legal things you should say. The OC Melian, Melog, Arien, and others that will appear in the future, are my own creation.

“It’s time,” a guard bellowed through the bars at a once young man. His once round cheeks sunken into his face, purple circles surrounded his eyes. With the guard’s announcement the man stood with an air of dignity, walking confidently towards the door of his cell. The shackles binding his hands and feet sung a mournful song as he shuffled. As he stopped to let the guard open the door his face fell and legs became soft for a split second before he regained his composure. The momentary slip seemed to pass unnoticed by the guard as he marched the prisoner down the dim stone corridor. They stopped before a sturdy wooden door; the guard opened it and shoved the man into the room. Landing on his hands and knees the man looked up to see a familiar ageless man with eyes of steel towering over him. The fire within him grew as he struggled to stand, finally managing the impossible task.

“We got a fighter,” said the ageless man, his cold voice reverberating off the hard walls. “I love when they fight. It makes it that much sweeter when they finally break… and they _always_ break.” His mouth slightly curved, filled with subdued arousal. “You know the drill,” he continued.

The prisoner nodded, refusing to lose his flame in the face of the routine with which he had become accustomed. He lay down on the large rectangular table in the center of the room.

“What is this man’s crime my emperor,” asked a young boy sitting in the corner of the small room.

“Excellent question Denethor,” Galbatorix gleamed as he released the shackles and strapped the prisoner’s hands and feet to rods at each of the four corners. At the side of table was a lever, which Denethor could not discern the meaning of. “This man is an enemy spy, sent to discover any information that may help them destroy everything I have worked so hard to build.”

“Why would anyone want to oppose the Empire? Don’t they know that we are all that stand between the world and oblivion,” Denethor asked incredulously.

Galbatorix smiled. “I see your studies have been paying off. That’s quite a large word for a 13 year-old.” Denethor beamed proudly at his mentors praise. “But sadly it’s true. There are some who would rather see the world lost in darkness than brought together in the light. I have tried for a hundred years to win their trust with acts of diplomacy and kindness, but each time they have refused leaving me with but one course of action.”

At this the prisoner used his will to shout, “That’s not…”

The lever attached to the table finally revealed its purpose as Galbatorix pushed it forward. As it locked into the place the prisoner screamed in agony, his arms and legs extending past their natural reach.

Denethor’s face widened in horror, and he immediately covered his eyes. Galbatorix turned away from the prisoner and calmly strode towards his apprentice. He bent down on one knee and pulled Denethor’s hands into his own. “I know this is unsettling at first, but it is what needs to be done. Do you remember the story of Anmar the Wise from your studies?”

Denethor nodded. “500 years ago Anmar ruled over Western Alagaesia with benevolence until a tribe of savages invaded his lands from the East,” his voice began to steady. “He tried everything to get them to see reason, but they refused to listen. He was eventually cornered in his fortress on Woadark Lake in the mountains of The Spine. Most of his allies had joined the savages to avoid being slaughtered, but 100 of his closest men remained loyal even as they faced certain defeat. Anmar used the terrain to his advantage, forcing the savages to split into two paths around the lake. He rained rock and fire upon his enemies. The savages refused to back down, and he was forced to kill all of them. In his diary he wrote, ‘After the battle I stopped to weigh what we had gained and what Alagaesia had lost. If I had not stopped their destruction, all would have been lost for humanity and civilization. It is with a heavy heart that I order lives be taken, but it is not without conviction that I do so.’”

“Very good Denethor,” Galbatorix applauded. “It is through righteousness that we are granted the power to punish those intent on dismantling society, even though it breaks our hearts. Without order, humanity is nothing, and, like Anmar, we are now the only ones standing in the way of that dismal future. Do you understand?” Denethor nodded and Galbatorix walked back over to the prisoner and pushing the lever to it’s second setting, soliciting another cry of pain from the prisoner. Denethor winced, but found his resolve.

 _Those that are lost will not destroy what makes us human._ He thought to himself as the prisoners cries echoed.

* * *

**5 Years Later**

Denethor’s life had changed drastically over the course of just a few years. At the young age of 12 Saphira, had hatched for him and set his path in a complete 180 degree turn, setting in motion events that would forever shape the man he would become. Galbatorix had taken him under his wing and molded him into the fierce leader he was today. Six long years of study, meditation, and training honed him into a loyal zealot. He was Galbatorix’s second – in – command, seeing to it that those loyal to him stayed loyal through whatever means necessary.

Denethor had inherited the war with the rebel group known as the Varden, but through Galbatorix’s rigorous training and teaching he had become a leader for the Empire’s cause. Enemy spies occasionally attempted to infiltrate the Empire’s ranks, but all of them had been captured, tortured, and/or killed. All attempts at reeducation had failed, which still hung heavy on his mind. It brought him no amount of pleasure to take lives, and the more lives he took the more he despaired.

All of these thoughts coursed through his mind as he sat in his favorite spot in the palace he called home, a secluded balcony hidden in an unused living quarters with a pristine view of Uru’Baen. Little did he know a familiar face crept in the shadow of the dying sun.

“What hangs heavy on your soul Denethor,” a young woman asked while placing her hand on the leaders shoulder.

Denethor started from the unexpected contact. “Melian! You scared the shit out of me.”

“Guess I’ve finally surpassed your stealth abilities,” she smirked. “My _leader.”_

“Don’t get cocky. If I had been anywhere outside the palace I would have sensed you coming from a mile away,” he replied pushing her playfully away.

“Galby always says a true warrior never lowers their defenses,” she said pushing him back.

“You know he hates it when you call him that.”

“But I’m right,” she chided.

“Fair enough. You are right,” he admitted.

“So…” she said expectantly.

“So… what?”

“What’s got you down?”

He paused, sighing before finally speaking. “We are in the right, of this I am certain. So why does every enemy that attempts to infiltrate us refuse to see the error in their ways and the light that shines within us? If I could just get them to realize that we are humanity’s last bastion of rationality and hope, I know that they would not hesitate to pledge themselves to Galbatorix and the Empire.”

Melian frowned, running her hand through her long auburn hair. “Philosophy… right. Erm… look. I know this isn’t the answer you want, but you can’t save everyone.”

“Everyone sure, but I can’t even get one spy to change their mind. Not one,” he exhaled.

She thought for a moment. “I feel like that’s probably a prerequisite for being an infiltrator. I mean, what good is a spy if we are able to get them to join our side?”

Denethor reflected on her words. “I suppose you’re right. Maybe I place to much hope in their ability to think.”

“Listen to yourself,” Melian continued. “Galby teaches us that our enemies are our enemies precisely because they don’t, or at least refuse, to use their rationality. They only seek destruction.” Her eyes sought the floor as she spoke.

They sat in silence as the sun set upon the capitol. Sparkling spires of glass reflected the soft orange and purple hues of the sunset, casting murals of soft light across the city. With the days end people were wrapping up their day and filling the taverns to drink the night away or rushing home to be with their families. With the city beginning to still it gave off a serene vibe, calming and peaceful.

After a few minutes Melian broke the comfortable silence. “Do you remember the first class we had together,” she asked.

Denethor thought back on their history. “Was it the lesson on Orodeth’s treatise regarding annexing new territories?”

Melian scoffed. “Nothing as innocuous as that. Although I do remember drifting off somewhere around his fifth postulation on the philosophical ramifications of converting a population,” she laughed. “It was about Galdor, the creator of the Varden. He believed that the quest for pleasure is the first and foremost purpose of life, because the worst misfortune is not to be able to attain something that your instincts drive you to want.”

Denethor nodded, “If I remember correctly the moral of that lesson was that ignorance is the greatest impurity. Galdor’s insistence on pleasure is what makes the Varden indulge in hedonistic acts.”

“Ding ding ding,” Melian exclaimed, tapping her index finger to her freckled nose. “You were so adamant that no one could possibly be so short-sighted as to believe that pleasure was the ultimate purpose of life.”

“It makes no sense,” Denethor shouted. “I stand by my critique on Galdor’s philosophy.”

“Rightly so. A life lived in service of pleasure is a life spent on fleeting and false happiness,” Melian agreed.

* * *

Galbatorix’s palace had long since served not only as a place for the Emperor to reside and carry out rule, but also as a place to cultivate the most elite soldiers throughout the Empire. The Emperor came to call this band of soldiers the Kheshig, meaning the favorite and blessed, with Denethor at the helm. Only a recommendation from the most trusted leaders of the Empire allowed a warrior consideration for entry into the elite force. After the recommendation and review process, new members endured schooling from the top three members of the group: Denethor, Melian, and Lord Barst. The Kheshig were taught the history of Alagaesia, philosophy, and specialized combat tactics and techniques. Denethor specialized in philosophy, ensuring that students understood what they were fighting to protect and why they were fighting to protect it. Barst held training sessions twice a day. At sunrise students would oscillate between, strength training and calisthenics. In the evenings, they were given freedom to develop unique combat styles with Barst providing guidance. Melian had the, in her opinion, unfortunate task of providing the context of the Empire’s mission to provide peace and structure throughout Alagaesia.

The sun once more returned from it’s grave behind the hills, and so the day began.

“Word is Lord Denethor will be giving an exam of sorts in our lesson today,” Melog, one of the newest recruits, said as he placed his stone dumbbells in the dirt. “I’ve only been here three months, and philosophy is one of the hardest concepts for me to grasp.”

“I was worried before my first test with Lord Denethor too,” Arien said as she completed her bicep curls. “I can’t say what the structure of the test will be, but I can say that it’s not what you’re thinking it will be. As long as you hold fast in your beliefs you will do just fine.”

Melog released a sigh he didn’t know he had been holding. “Great… now I just have to figure out what those are.”

“It sounds much harder than it actually is,” she said, switching to work on her triceps. “Those beliefs are already inside your head, all you’ve gotta do is let them out.”

Their bodies shone in the light of the sunrise that now fell fully on the training grounds. Arien’s short, curly brown hair clung to her forehead, soaked with sweat.

After an hour-and-a-half of vigorous strength training, the ten recruits bathed, ate a light breakfast of bacon, eggs, and bread, and made their way to their first class: philosophy.

“Good morning everyone. Today we are going to start a little bit differently. Arien, would you mind telling us what our philosophical duty as members of the Kheshig is,” Denethor asked.

Arien stood and calmly answered. “The Kheshig’s duty is to uphold, protect, and embody the morals and ethics of the Empire.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself. Thank you Arien,” Denethor commended. “Today will serve as an examination of sorts. Basically I will ask questions and each of you is required to answer one of those questions. As this is philosophy there are rarely any wrong answers, so I only ask that you plainly speak your mind.”

The class of recruits released a collective sigh of relief.

“First question: Melog, what is your definition of right effort?”

Melog thought for a few seconds before standing to answer with slick palms. “Right effort is seeking to eliminate evil that arises,” he swallowed roughly, “and to nourish good that already exists.”

Denethor pumped his fist in the air. “Excellent Melog, truly insightful.”

Melog felt the ice inside his stomach melt and smiled.

“Next question: Arien, suppose one your fellow soldiers is critically injured and will die if they are not given immediate medical attention. At the same time a member of the Varden is fleeing with something valuable to the Empire. Assume you are the only one able to act on either issue. What do you do?”

Melog looked over at Arien, thankful that he had gotten a relatively easy question. He saw Arien furrow her brow, brown curls obscuring her eyes.

Arien stood, ready to give an answer. “Short answer: I would attempt to capture the Varden agent if possible, and kill them if not.”

Denethor sat down on his desk, offering no indication if her answer was satisfactory. “Would you mind providing your reasoning?”

She nodded. “At first I thought this was a simple question of asset recovery versus the sanctity of our comrades lives. If that were the case, I should do everything in my power to heal our soldier. However, this is not a simple problem, as upon further analysis this scenario seems to conflict the duty of a Kheshig. Ethically and morally I should seek to ‘nourish’ the good that already exists, as Melog put it. At the same time I wondered what I would do if the valuable thing stolen was critical to the Empire’s survival. As difficult as it would be, I would sacrifice myself for the Empire’s survival. Therefore, asset recovery takes precedence.”

“Sacrifice for the greater good is always a difficult thing to wrap one’s head around, but it’s the most honorable death for a Kheshig,” Denethor concurred. “Thank you for your thoughtful response.”

Arien sat back down and ran her calloused hand through her curly hair.

The rest of the recruits answered their questions to Denethor’s satisfaction and the class ended. As the students were about to leave to their next class with Melian, both her and Barst came into the classroom.

“Today we will be taking an early lunch. We will meet you in the dining hall to provide further instructions,” Barst said to the students.

The students made their way to the dining hall with hushed whispers about the strange change in schedule.

Denethor waited for the class to leave before speaking.

“What’s going on,” he asked.

“Galbatorix wishes to speak with us, he refused to provide any other details,” Melian explained.

“Well then, best not keep him waiting.”

* * *

The ten recruits abandoned their attempts at discretion when they entered the dining hall.

“I’ve been here for over a year, and there has never been a change in schedule. In fact they make it a point to maintain a strict timetable to teach us discipline,” Arien said as she picked up her plate of salted pork, beans, and cornbread from the line.

“Something must have happened,” Morag said while sitting down at the table he and Arien always shared at meals. He inhaled sharply. “You don’t think the Varden is finally making a move do you?”

She crumbled her cornbread into her bowl of beans, mixing them together until they resembled a mash. “It’s possible,” she said taking a big bite of her cornbread and bean mixture.

“I still think that’s disgusting,” Melog gagged. “You might as well mix eggs and black-eyed peas together.”

“That’s not fair,” she scoffed. “I would never waste good eggs like that.”

“And I would never waste good cornbread like that. At first you’re met with a crisp outside, then when you break the surface the fluffy insides melt in your mouth with a savory butter flavor,” he bit into his cornbread and as his face relaxed, a soft moan escaped his lips.

“I worry about you sometimes,” Arien laughed, nearly choking on her pork.

Morag swallowed his cornbread, before speaking in a sober tone. “For real though, what do you think happened?”

“Who knows? Lord Barst said they would brief us after we ate, so there’s no point is speculating,” she said taking another bite.

“I guess you’re right,” he conceded. “All we can do is wait.”

* * *

The three leaders of the Kheshig walked up the spiral staircase in silence, until approaching the familiar sight of an ornate stone door and two guards straddling the edges.

“Hammond. Dirk,” He greeted the two guards.

“Lord Denethor. The emperor is waiting for you,” Dirk replied.

“Me too, right Dirky,” Melian asked teasingly.

“Yes Lady Melian,” Dirk replied with a face of stone. “All three of you are expected.”

The two guards opened the doors to allow them entry.

Melian stuck her tongue out at Dirk. “You’re no fun.”

The trio entered the Emperor’s study at the top of the tallest tower in the palace, kneeling before him.

“Rise, “ Galbatorix said in an uninterested tone. “Take a seat.” He motioned to four chairs in front of him.

“How are the students progressing,” he asked.

Barst answered first. “They have made steady progress on training their bodies, and most have developed their own style of fighting. A couple of the newer ones still need more time to fully realize their capabilities.”

“Excellent,” Galbatorix remarked. “And in history?”

“All of them have been diligent in studying the prescribed texts, and have fully accepted what they have been taught,” Melian answered.

Galbatorix stared intently at her. “You said they ‘fully accepted what they have been taught.’ Odd way to phrase it.”

Melian held fast. “Of course my Emperor. I only meant to convey that the texts are remarkably tailored to fit our agenda.”

A few moments of silence passed before a throaty chuckle escaped his throat, “Naturally. History is written by the victors of course. However, your point is noted. Perhaps we need to select a text or two with a nuanced approach, so they don’t begin to question our instruction,” he rubbed his pointed chin. “Thank you for bringing this to my attention.”

“Of course, my lord.”

“Denethor, how goes philosophy,” He asked as his eyes trailed to meet Denethor’s.

“The students have demonstrated a remarkable talent for abstract thought and it’s application in the field,” Denethor replied proudly.

“And have any of them indicated any hesitance in regards to serving the Empire.”

“No my lord. If anything they are more fervent in their support than ever.”

The edge of Galbatorix’s lips rose. “I must admit, I was hesitant to allow you to start teaching philosophy as a subject, but you have proven my doubts wrong. Be proud of your accomplishment, it doesn’t happen often.”

The Emperor rose from his large leather chair. “Given your reports we will be going ahead with their initiation into the Kheshig.”

Denethor raised his eyebrows. “So soon?”

“I have received intelligence that the Varden has been gathering allies, and will attempt to make a move soon. We can continue to cultivate their abilities, but I want a focus on combat. They have learned enough to pledge their support to me, and that is enough.”

“I will see it done my lord,” Barst said.

If Denethor or Melian had any reservations they did not voice them.

“While we are here I have one more topic to discuss,” Galbatorix said. “You have done well in your instruction, and, if I am being candid, I was not entirely forthcoming with my true goals for the Kheshig.”

The trio sat up a little straighter in their seats.

“I told you I wanted an elite force to carry out missions that were deemed to difficult for normal soldiers or that required a certain level of discretion, and while that was not a lie, it was not the entire truth,” he grew pensive. “The goal of the Kheshig was a force that served me with no hesitation. A group of fanatical belief that would carry out any order I gave. And I’ll be damned… it seems that it worked. With the ten recruits and 30 already initiated I have amassed a perfect army that would charge to their deaths if I told them to.”

“An impressive feat my lord. I am honored that you had the trust in us to fulfill this task for you,” Barst said with an air of dignity.

“Given that the Varden is preparing to launch an assault, I felt it proper to be open with my must trusted advisors, for who knows what I will need to Kheshig to do and sacrifice,”

Melian broke her silence. “If I might ask my lord, why do we need to have a force with fanatical belief?”

“That’s the million-dollar question Lady Melian,” he praised. “You see, I divide humanity into two fundamentally different layers: the handful that knows what really is, and the vast multitudes that don’t know. The former are called to lead, the latter to be led. The former that know that truth is unattainable, while the latter reach their arms out for it.”

“Truth is unattainable,” Denethor asked measuredly.

“Of course. You’re a philosopher Denethor; think about it, about all the smoke and mirrors that inhabit our world,” his tongue slithered. “You were too young to see it, but I was there when the Dragon Riders ruled. I played their games, and worshipped their God; checked all the boxes and dotted all the I’s. Do you know what I got for all my devotion and hard work? Oromis, my mentor, stabbed me in the fucking back.”

The room remained silent as the trio let his words sink into them.

Galbatorix walked out from behind his desk to ponder at the window overlooking his empire. “I was lost for a time; questioning how a person I so trusted in a system I trusted was able to betray everything we stood for in a single motion. As I wandered, I heard news that the riders had fallen to infighting. I was shocked, and if I’m honest somewhat giddy. The organization I had devoted my life to, and was betrayed by had met its end by betrayal. How poetic. The Council of Elders was preaching a false god and reaping the benefits. After it was exposed the riders went to war with itself. The only survivors were Formora and myself. My only regret is that I was not the person to expose this. It was in fact Formora who aired the council’s dirty laundry,” he turned away from the window as the doors to his study opened. “Impeccable timing. Formora, would you kindly join us?”

The wooden door opened, revealing a tall, blonde woman who strode into the room.

“Yes, my lord,” she asked.

“I was just regaling them with the story of how the fall of the riders was caused by their own hubris,” he explained, gesturing for her to sit in the remaining chair.

As Formora made her way to the chair she made eye contact with Denethor and smiled.

“I have a question my lord,” Denethor spoke up. “Why did your mentor betray you?”

Galbatorix’s black eyes darkened into a void. “That is the most egregious violation of all. I had happened upon his diary. I knew it was wrong to look, but I could not help myself. He was a part of the council, and he foolishly documented his, and by extension the council’s, sins. I was horrified. I wanted to ask him about this invented god and system without revealing that I already knew his secrets. However, I was not tactful enough, and Oromis was able to discern my intentions. The flaws of youth.”

Galbatorix leaned on his desk, looking at his guests.

“We were on a mission, just the two of us and our dragons. Something about killing a magical beast threatening a town under our purview. He and his dragon Glaedr killed my first dragon Jarnunvösk before we even realized what was happening. A deceitful act by a deceitful pair. That was the moment I realized the truth, my moment of enlightenment. You see, if someone, like me for instance, has truly realized that nothing he sees, feels or perceives around him is dependable; if he’s had that flash of awareness that he’s surrounded on all sides by nothing but uncertainties and obscurity, and that he’s constantly the victim of delusions, then he no longer feels that these are things that can obstruct him, but more like a kind of necessity that, sooner or later, he’ll have to make peace with. Delusion as one of the elements of all life, as something that’s not our enemy, as one of a number of means by which we can still act and move forward at all. I see this as the only possible view of those who have attained some higher knowledge.”

A cold, harsh silence filled the room, everyone chewing on what the emperor had said.

Denethor finally broke the silence. “By that logic nothing is an absolute reality, and everything is permitted.”

“An apt way to summarize my philosophy Denethor. Neither things nor actual facts decide our happiness, or unhappiness,” Galbatorix continued. “Instead, we’re completely dependent on our notions, and our perceptions of them. What frail legs our happiness rests on! How unjustified our grief often is! It’s no small wonder that the wise man is indifferent to both of them, or that only simpletons and idiots can enjoy happiness!”

While everyone was digesting Galbatorix’s message, he continued.

“Inform the recruits that the initiation will be held this evening in lieu of their combat exercises. Denethor, as the organization’s leader speak to them about the solemnity of the event and of the great deeds they will perform as members of the Kheshig with fervor. Really fire them up and fill them with passion and determination.” He turned to Melian and Barst. “You two prepare the ceremonious garb and the stage for the initiation. You are all dismissed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The revisions got out of hand, and I ended up rewriting the whole chapter, and adding three new characters, thus altering the whole narrative. Oops.
> 
> In case you are interested, heres a song that helped inspire the idea for the Kheshig and Galbatorix.  
> https://youtu.be/VAXg78MKJcM
> 
> Also I'm a whore for feedback, so please leave a comment with whatever you want to say. Thanks!


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